


Yellow

by Llewcie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 04:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18024386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie
Summary: Will Graham has had a long morning, and when the barista messes up his order he is ready to fight someone. That someone is a handsome gentleman in a yellow shirt who seems to be trying to tell him something.For Sirenja, who postedthison her twitter and then dared anyone to write a story, and for @WendigoBunny who came up with this wonderful prompt! I hope this makes you smile. I also hope you @AchillesLament accept my apologies for being a doof!





	Yellow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sirenja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenja/gifts), [AchillesLament (11Mydesign11)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/11Mydesign11/gifts), [You_Are_As_Alone_As_I_Am](https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_Are_As_Alone_As_I_Am/gifts).



It shouldn't have been the final straw. As irritations go, on any other day it would have likely been a minor one. And yet, as Will sucked his first drop of the morning elixer of life, the bitterness of unsweetened dark roast stung like an arrow to the tongue. He sputtered in dismay, and then stared, betrayed, into his cup. 

Could he choke it down, or would he pack up his laptop, give up his table, and trek back to the front of the store for the sweet caramel relief to which he was entitled? The counter was fathoms away, a veritable speck on the horizon. Did he dare risk the wrath of late commuters by cutting in line? Or did he go to the back and wait his turn? _Again?_ He stood up, wavered, and sat back down. Another mouthful of bitter black coffee and he stood again, revolted determination making his brows crease down. He shoved his laptop angrily back into his bag, casting a mournful eye at the outlet he had managed to commandeer. 

"Excuse me?"

Will scowled, turning his face to the side. "Sorry, I don't speak to anyone before my first coffee."

"Normally, nor do I." A cultured, smokey voice, edged with early morning roughness. "But you are holding mine, I believe, Mr. Sunshine."

It was way too early for this flirty bullshit. Irritation gave Will the motivation to glare at his attacker. His brain processed everything in the background. _Late 40's, white male, 170 pounds, fit. Accent eastern European. Hair extremely expensively trimmed, but roughly unstyled. Long night? Gold, silver, and bronze, but no hint of roots. Stunning cheekbones, supple skin well cared for. Nose slightly crooked, likely a badly-set break. The man's mouth was a perfect double arch, the top lip slightly fuller than the lush bottom lip. Salt and pepper scruff artfully scattered around a well-cut jaw. Earlobes attached, no previous piercings. A soft yellow shirt sat low on his neckline, exposing his clavical attractively._ His brain cycled through this even as his mouth snapped out, "Please don't try to fuck with me. Or flirt. I'm not interested. I just want my coffee."

That lush mouth turned down minutely. Ok maybe Will was slightly interested, but timing was everything, and this man had vastly misjudged Will's receptiveness. Regardless of Will's sharp reply, the man stood in his way, holding the cup. Which, now that Will had managed to look away from that gorgeous face, he could see that the name "Mr. Sunshine" was marked in sharpie on the cup. 

Will looked down at himself, only now remembering that he had pulled on a bright yellow tshirt this morning. It had a cartoon sun on it, with a smudge on the corona that might have been engine oil. The cup in his hand, to his chagrin, also read "Mr. Sunshine", written in a different hand.

What were the odds?

It was just too fucking early. He deflated immediately. "Fuck, I'm really sorry. I'm afraid I'm always kind of a dick tho, so I cant blame the lack of caffeine." He attempted a half-hearted smile, managed to bare a single tooth, and then gave it up as a bad job. The man raised an immaculate eyebrow. 

"I see. Well, Perhaps we can just trade cups and get on with our lives, then?" His voice was noticeably chillier than before. Mortified, Will handed him the black coffee, and took his caramel royale macchiato in turn, and shrank back down and took a seat at his table. He was unable to even look up as the handsome stranger stood for a moment longer, then turned and walked out of the shop, and out of Will's life, likely forever.

Just as well, he thought sullenly as he snapped his laptop open. He had a treatis on decomposition and insect activity to write, and no time to be social. 

But he was still kicking himself a week later, when after coming to the coffee house every day, spending money he didn't have on pricey brews he didn't need, the man did not come back.

* * *

Despite his thorough embarrassment, Will didn't completely forget Mr. Sunshine. As the summer turned to fall, he found himself still looking on occasion for a flash of silver and bronze, or pale yellow. He even considered asked after the man once, until he imagined himself describing him as well as he could without sounding entirely besotted. _An older man, but not much older. Not older. A man. Mature. Cheekbones for miles. Gold and silver in his hair. Christ._ Yeah, the odds weren't in his favor. He decided to spare himself further exposure.

The paper was coming along well; to his surprise, working out of the house was considerably more productive than working at home. Twice a week, he forced himself to get out of bed, get dressed, and run with his dogs for an hour before getting his laptop and notes and driving to the coffeehouse in Baltimore, nearly an hour away from home. And if it was the same coffeehouse that Mr. Sunshine had been in, so what? They had great wifi, and the coffee was good too. 

Which was why, one mid-fall afternoon when he sputtered around a bitter swallow of dark roast, he looked sharply up and around the room. It was later in the day, well past lunch, and the coffeehouse was nearly deserted. No sign of the man. He looked at his cup. Written in an elegant hand, it read, "Mr. Plaid." He gave a soft snort, and left his laptop to walk up to the counter. The woman working gave him a playful smirk, but waited for him to speak.

"I've got the wrong order." He showed her the writing. "And I know your chicken scratch, Bev, and you definitely didn't write this."

She grinned. "Thank the fucking gods you are both here on the same day. It's been nearly a week of butt-clenching tension around here." She waved a spoon at the back of the room, where a broad-shouldered man in a tailored plaid suit sat facing the window. A cup of coffee sat cooling by his hand.

Will's heart bounced against his ribcage. He sank towards her. "Who is he?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "That's Dr. Lecter."

Will swallowed a laugh, and eyed the sign behind her, which read, in now recognisable hand that matched the perfect cursive on his cup, _Brewhouse Lecter_. He shook his head. "Damn. I wish I'd asked you sooner."

She rolled her eyes. "Believe me, so do we all." With a shooing motion, she turned her back on him, and left him to his fate.

He snagged his laptop and bag on the way over to Dr. Lecter's table, and plopped the whole kit down beside the other empty chair. Dr. Lecter raised that same elegant eyebrow, sienna eyes trailing up Will's battered jeans and plaid shirt to his face. "I believe you have my order, Dr. Lecter."

A lovely smile bloomed across his face. Gods, but he was gorgeous. Time had not exaggerated. Will gave him a questioning look, and Dr. Lecter rose and pulled out the chair. Will thought he heard Bev squeek as he sat down across from his long-evasive quarry.

"I'm Will Graham," Will added, as Dr. Lecter seemed content for a long moment to just study his face. He nodded.

"Ms. Katz told me. I hope you don't mind my presumption in asking her." He offered his hand, and Will took it. "I'm Hannibal Lecter." They shook hands, and as their hands slid slowly apart, Will had the strong impression that Dr. Lecter didn't want to let go. Or he might just be projecting.

"Where have you been? It's been nearly a month." Will frowned at himself, and took a sip of the coffee at Dr. Lecter's hand, which was indeed caramel royale macchiato. "I promise I'm not a creepy stalker."

Dr. Lecter flashed a bright fang, his smile turning a bit goofy, which was entirely endearing. "Nor am I, but I did ask my staff to keep an eye out for a handsome, grumpy writer while I was away."

"While you were away?" Will paused. "Wait, you think _I'm_ handsome? I nearly bit your head off last time."

"So you did." Dr. Lecter seemed more pleased about this than any sensible person should be. They indulged in examining one another a moment longer, before Dr. Lecter recovered himself and resumed speaking. "I was leaving for Ethiopia the day you nearly bit my head off; otherwise I would have attempted to make amends to you much sooner. I order coffee from a plantation up in the highlands outside Addis Ababa, and this was my annual tour and purchase." He nudged the coffee that Will had brought to the table. "This is that coffee."

Will frowned at it. "I've never learned to appreciate unadulterated coffee. My dad made coffee in an old industrial Bunn that had discolored with age and neglect." Dr. Lecter shivered playfully. Will grinned. "I still have it, doctor."

At this outrage, Dr. Lecter stood up and reached his hand out to Will. "Not a moment longer will you suffer under this delusion, if you would kindly allow me to enlighten your palate, Mr. Graham," he said with mock sternness. Behind it, though, was an edge of hopefulness that Will recognised very well, having heard it behind every word he himself had spoken in the last ten minutes.

"That's quite presumptious of you, Dr. Lecter."

"Please call me Hannibal."

Will slid his hand again into Hannibal's, and allowed himself to be raised from his chair. Feeling almost bespelled with relief and pleasure, he let the motion move him forward, into Hannibal's space, and boldly further, until he had to set a hand to Hannibal's shoulder to keep from pressing against him knee to chest. Their noses touched gently. "Please call me Will," he murmured.

"Will," Hannibal breathed back, against his mouth. 

It could have gone either way, but momentum and a month of thwarted desire won the hand, as Hannibal tipped his head just slightly forward, and gently, tentatively kissed Will's mouth. Will nudged into him, hand sliding from his shoulder to the back of his neck, and kept them together. A sweet, hesitant kiss began to deepen luxuriously, until someone whistled from the front of the store.

Hannibal broke from Will with a soft, final kiss, and turned a raised eyebrow towards the counter, which was suspiciously devoid of staff. Will leaned down to pull his bag over his shoulder, and slid his fingers back in-between Hannibal's, his chest full of warm happiness. He squeezed Hannibal's hand, and Hannibal squeezed back. "If you're intending to enlighten my palate, Hannibal, you're off to a good start."


End file.
